To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
by Andromache
Summary: What did Hojo do to Vincent? I warn you it gets more than a little creepy.


To Sleep

**To Sleep, Perchance to Dream**

by Andromache

Disclaimer: I do not own Hojo, Vincent, or Final Fantasy 7. They all belong to Squaresoft. This is also my first Final Fantasy 7 fic, so, please, be gentle.

The pretty boy crusader, who looked so self-righteous and indignant while he pointed at me and decried my experiments, was now as flat on his back as a common street whore on the laboratory table, straps restraining his body and limbs lest he should wake during his transformation.

Those straps cuts into his smooth, bare skin since I had removed his clothes as they would eventually obstruct my work. I am sure that some part of him would be cringing at the cold temperature of the lab if he were not already dead, of course. His skin was paler than cream, and so his pitch-colored hair looked like someone had spilled ink over his head. His lips were soft and yielding to my probes, and although there was no life in his eyes, they were also beautiful pools of black ink.

He was not very muscular, but there was certainly something underneath his skin. In both life and death, he was slim but not skinny. Perfect for what I was about to do.

The funny thing is I don't know what I will do. I really do not have a clue what I will do with him. 

I toy with the fingers of his left hand. So elegant and refined. I wish I could keep them for myself. Wait. I can keep them if I take them. But the whole beautiful line is ruined if I only take his hand or his fingers. I should take part of his arm as well. Up to his elbow, I think.

I bring over a small table of instruments. I doubt I will need a bone saw, but these tendon shears should suffice. I slowly, gently, painstakingly make an incision in his arm. No blood spurts since blood stops flowing after death. 

Some time later, I finally remove the separated forearm from the rest of him and place it lovingly on a soft towel on the clean, steel countertop. I look back at his prone body, nibbling on my fingertip as I think of what to do next. On a bookshelf in the library are a series of neural implants. There were four of them, but I think Lucrecia took one. No matter. These three will be enough, but he has to be alive when I put them in, or else I could implant them in the wrong place. Hm.

I could replace the forearm that I removed with a mechanical one that would house the machinery that would keep him alive. I had a spare part from a robot that I scrapped which could work marvelously. I leave the main lab for a moment while I rummage around for that arm. At last, I find it and hold it to the light. The dull golden color glows from beneath the dust, and I knew this would be perfect for my precious venture.

Hours later, maybe days, I lost track of the time, I had created a working system of continual electric shock and rejuvenation powered by mako energy. By now, his body smelled of decay, and I knew I had to work quickly to salvage him. I attached the clean, mechanized forearm to the stump of his left arm and ran pure silicone rubber tubes to his heart, lungs, and brain. Inside the tubes were copper wires which would conduct the energy to those organs to revive him. Once I had closed the incisions I had made, I reached inside the metal forearm and turned on the mako pump. 

I was quite lucky that I had restrained the crusader when I had because he struggled like a magnificent beast under the restraints. He cursed me, but he should really be thanking me. I brought him back to life after all. I soothed him and started an intravenous drip of general anesthetic. I opened his mouth and put in a tube from a respirator to breathe for him. 

Neurosurgery is nerve-racking especially experimental neurosurgery. I leaned so close I am sure that I strained my eyes when I put in the implants. I was successful though. Every time I touched the implants, he began to transform into the respective creature. 

All I have to do is wait for him to wake up. I pace every once in a while. Or I hold the arm I took from him and imagine the fingers moving animatedly just before I shot him. 

Eventually, he stirred sluggishly and looked over at me. His now crimson eyes were languid and calm. I regret having to leave him, but Lucrecia gave birth to the subject last night, and we have to go back to Midgar this evening. I cannot observe the boy properly in this little town. 

I touch the claw at the end of the mechanical arm and say as I undo the restraints, "I'm sorry I have to leave you, Vincent, but I have other things to do tonight. You can stay here in the mansion for as long as you want." 

He barely moves while I speak. I leave his side and place the severed arm in a velvet-lined box that I will keep in my office. I carry the box under one arm as I leave the lab. Just as I reach the circular staircase, I hear him howl from the lab. It is such a pity I cannot take him with me. 

~o0O0o~


End file.
